From Artificial to the Real

Putting in considerable effort to compose this poem, I dedicated it to the Respected Prime Minister on Monday, 11 August 2014.

When the grandeur of Redfort began to fade rapidly

With the developing cracks in walls and ceilings,

Worried did he grow seriously.

Utterly repellent the Self-seeking oligarchy found responsibility;

They kept drinking beverages of power with half-closed eyes,

 And got too sloshed to listen to him or to make a choice wise.   

Not knowing what to do, Redfort cried,

“You reckless sons of mine,

Do you realize my life is on the line?

Look, you invite your enemies to besiege me!

Don’t you see how Toms are out to tease me?”

But his voice was blocked by the fog of money.

“I’m partly taken over,” he shouted again. 

“Wake before I’m invaded again.”

Everyone was deafened

By the sweet notes on the flute that the impostor blew.

What was wrong poor Redfort now knew.

He rummaged around

And a brave son in a corner, roaring like a lion,

He found.

He asked the Storm to welcome him to his silhouette 

Standing out boldly in the middle, on the horizon red.

“The task is tough, the path rough,

Yet I swear to take thee up.

Rest not till I have restored 

You to thy glories of good days old.  

Fluid thy veins will no more leak;

The world will feel thy regal heat.

In me, O Father, put thy faith

And hope you for a future great.”

The true son, afterwards, thus assured 

And cheerful sounded soon Redfort.

And now for what we see here.

Why do flowers today dance around,

As if to the music of free and trustworthy air?

What has made nature so mad with mirth?

What is this preparation for?

Lo, Redfort looks awesome and tremendous

With its imperial majesty and stately splendour.

Oh yes, Bharati celebrates Independence

And for the first time in centuries, she feels

In command of her own Narendra-Government.

- Ramesh Tiwari, Bahraich